09-10-2023, 01:43 PM
At some Kusarian restaurant. The one with the melodic music. Spacious. Sparsely populated, because the prices are higher than usual. With a strange interior design. In one in which two Libertonians, Yury and Bill, would be comfortable, but still with a touch of ancient Japan here and there. The one that doesn't interfere with a true story.
- Did they lack perseverance?
- No, not really. You have to understand the context of all events. By that time, I had already been the commander of one of the wings on my Sabre for two years. And so they make me a squadron commander. All those with whom you secretly drank or fought - now your problem. I was given an ambitious task, which I had to start preparing for as soon as possible.
- How did they take your promotion?
- Surprisingly normal. They joined the work, but, as it turned out later, only formally. My veteran pilots then saw no need to do anything other than their direct duties. And the pilots who had already mastered themselves believed that they had sufficient knowledge of all the skills. Add a couple of newcomers to this cocktail of disbelief and arrogance and you'll get my squadron. Of course, there was a reason for this attitude - we did not participate in a real war. Only patrols, base guards and traders escorts. More often than not, we just picked up the shit for the local big players: arriving at the place, it was enough for us to seem dangerous so that no one interfered with rescue operations, and did not steal cargo while the damaged ships were being towed.
- Well, it hardly needs high-G maneuvers.
- Affirmative. They thought the same way. We trained a lot, hard, but no one left, although they could have done it at any moment. Training at 4am? - No problem. Three training sessions in a row? - Name the dates. I believed that we could succeed, and I completely devoted myself to their training. Unfortunately, not everything was smooth. We did not have good conditions for working out situations close to combat. Stray mercenaries either asked for too much money, or were no good. The local factions didn't have time for this. So I tried to compensate for the lack of practice with theory. I set up a whole fucking studio for myself, where I edited and commented on guncam recordings from neural net at night so that they could watch it in their free time from training. Now I'm curious - did they put beer on these discs, or did they wipe themselves with them?
- The date of the first task was approaching. The results did not improve, and sometimes even worsened. It began to seem to me that the problem was me. I tried different approaches and settled on insane screams as the most effective.
- Why did you go on? Why didn't you leave?
- I think I became obsessed with this idea even more than its creator. I thought I just need passion or... What did you call it when you asked?
- About what?
- About my squadron
- Mmm..
- They lacked..?
- Perseverance?
- Yes, perseverance. I thought that you just need to apply enough perseverance. I was still quite young, I still wanted to prove to the world what I was capable of. That I'm a good commander.
- Well, do you think you're a good commander now?
- Screw you, Bill! Was good to see you.
- Hey, wait! And how did it end?! What happened to your squadron?!
- I was the only one who came back!
- Did they lack perseverance?
The fat man took advantage of my mood and pulled out details as best he could. His chubby face made a good-natured impression, especially when he was half-smiling, just like now. While I was concentrating on the story, he decided to concentrate on the second ramen. In general, I didn't care if he was interested or not. He was one of the few people I would have told about those events at all. That was good enough for me.
- No, not really. You have to understand the context of all events. By that time, I had already been the commander of one of the wings on my Sabre for two years. And so they make me a squadron commander. All those with whom you secretly drank or fought - now your problem. I was given an ambitious task, which I had to start preparing for as soon as possible.
Bill raised his left hand a little and stuck out his finger. I had to wait a few seconds while another roll of noodles disappeared into his already smiling mouth.
- How did they take your promotion?
- Surprisingly normal. They joined the work, but, as it turned out later, only formally. My veteran pilots then saw no need to do anything other than their direct duties. And the pilots who had already mastered themselves believed that they had sufficient knowledge of all the skills. Add a couple of newcomers to this cocktail of disbelief and arrogance and you'll get my squadron. Of course, there was a reason for this attitude - we did not participate in a real war. Only patrols, base guards and traders escorts. More often than not, we just picked up the shit for the local big players: arriving at the place, it was enough for us to seem dangerous so that no one interfered with rescue operations, and did not steal cargo while the damaged ships were being towed.
- Well, it hardly needs high-G maneuvers.
- Affirmative. They thought the same way. We trained a lot, hard, but no one left, although they could have done it at any moment. Training at 4am? - No problem. Three training sessions in a row? - Name the dates. I believed that we could succeed, and I completely devoted myself to their training. Unfortunately, not everything was smooth. We did not have good conditions for working out situations close to combat. Stray mercenaries either asked for too much money, or were no good. The local factions didn't have time for this. So I tried to compensate for the lack of practice with theory. I set up a whole fucking studio for myself, where I edited and commented on guncam recordings from neural net at night so that they could watch it in their free time from training. Now I'm curious - did they put beer on these discs, or did they wipe themselves with them?
I laughed, then looked down, grabbing a bottle of beer. Greedily sucked on it, exhaling noisily after a few sips. And returned the look back. A look that is afraid of evaluation, seeking for approval, but no longer begs for it. Having received nothing in return, and being satisfied with this, I continued.
- The date of the first task was approaching. The results did not improve, and sometimes even worsened. It began to seem to me that the problem was me. I tried different approaches and settled on insane screams as the most effective.
- Why did you go on? Why didn't you leave?
- I think I became obsessed with this idea even more than its creator. I thought I just need passion or... What did you call it when you asked?
- About what?
- About my squadron
- Mmm..
- They lacked..?
- Perseverance?
- Yes, perseverance. I thought that you just need to apply enough perseverance. I was still quite young, I still wanted to prove to the world what I was capable of. That I'm a good commander.
- Well, do you think you're a good commander now?
I could dodge a missile, but the embarrassment that came over me. I tried to cloak it with a smile.
- Screw you, Bill! Was good to see you.
The fat man laughed heartily. As soon as he realized that there was no one at the table, he called out to me.
- Hey, wait! And how did it end?! What happened to your squadron?!
I half turned on the move and, without meeting his gaze, shouted:
- I was the only one who came back!